


The Comforts of Madness

by flurblewig



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Dark, F/M, Insanity, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flurblewig/pseuds/flurblewig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of the AtS S5 ep 'Lineage.' How Wesley & Dru cope - or don't - with the turns their lives have taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comforts of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for AtS S4 'Release,' S5 'Lineage'

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. She lived with her mama and her daddy, and she had a handsome knight to do her bidding. They had many beautiful things to play with and lots and lots to eat, and she thought that they must be the happiest family in the whole wide world.

The princess wished that everything would always stay just as it was. She wished on every star in the sky - wished hard! - but she was afraid that the stars could see into her secret heart. Her cold, nasty heart that whispered bad things to her. It told her that her daddy would leave her, and her mama, and her sweet knight too. They would all leave her. Leave her alone.

*

She's hovering in the doorway again. It's starting to make him itch.

"What do you want, Fred?"

She stands there, half in and half out. He wishes she would just make up her mind.

"Oh. Oh, nothing, I just - was that your father on the phone?"

"Yes."

"Uh huh. So, he's okay, right? Did you, uh, talk about -"

He sighs loudly and rubs his eyes. "Fred. It's late, and I'm tired. Is the something I can do for you?"

"No. I was just - you know, I just wanted to, to, uh -"

"Check up on me?"

"No! Well, okay, yes. I'm worried about you, Wesley. We all are."

"There's really no need. I can assure you I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, Wes. I - look, I know how you must feel. What happened was - was bad. But you have to remember you didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your father. It wasn't real."

"I know that, Fred. Thank you."

Does he sound certain? He thinks he does. How strange.

"O-okay. Well, I guess I'll, er, I'll leave you to it. Unless - have you eaten anything? I could go and -"

"Fred."

"- get some Chinese food, we could - "

She's not listening to him. No-one ever listens to him.

"Fred."

" - have some - huh? Sorry, what?"

"Leave me alone, Fred. Please. Just leave me alone."

 

*

The princess soon found that her nasty heart had told her the truth, and she wept bitter tears when she found herself alone. The stars wouldn't listen to her wishes anymore, and tormented her with visions of her lost mama. She dreamed that her mama became her daughter, and they lived and loved together just like they always had. She was happy in her dreams, although she no longer believed that they were real. That was okay, though; the princess didn't think she cared for real things any more. She liked her dreams much better.

*

"Evening, Mr Smith. Good to see you, as always."

"Shut up.

"Anything you say, sir."

He hates this man. Hates this sickly deference, which isn't deference to Wesley himself but to the colour of his money. He hates this place, hates its sordid, stereotypical sleaze. Hates the mess and the clutter that he has to step over all the time. Can't really call them bodies; they're more like the discarded boxes that litter the sidewalk outside the burger bar next door.

He hates the fact that he ever came here. Hates the memories that this place always brings, the memories that he has to keep coming back to forget.

Faith. Blood. Knives. _I avoided the main arteries. She'll live. If that's what you call this._ Angelus. Angel. Faith. _I did what I had to do because you couldn't._ Blood. Skin, slicing under the pressure of the blade. His blade. Slicing so cleanly. _I avoided the main arteries. She'll live_. Angelus, Angel, Faith. _Oh, you have a problem with a little torture now?_ Fighting, blood, knives, the slicing of skin, the slamming of fists. Bruises, scars, blood. _I avoided the main arteries._ Faith, Angelus. Angel. Angel.

"- you all right, Sir?"

He swallows, painfully. His own saliva burns his throat just like the pictures in his head burn his mind. Angel, Faith, a broken junkie girl. He'd stolen her, hadn't he? He'd been trying to save her - trying to save _someone_ \- maybe not a girl. A boy? He can't remember. Why can't he remember? He'd got something wrong. Made a mistake. Been punished. Hadn't he?

"Sir? Sir!"

"I'm fine," he says. Backs it up with a stack of bills from his wallet. That seems to provide the necessary reassurance.

He wipes the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. His skin is hot and painful to touch. Feels like it's on fire.

*

The princess and her mama had a lovely time, playing together and making new friends, but they were still sad because they missed their daddy, their dear boy, so very very much. One day they went out walking in the forest and a little bird told the princess that it had seen her beloved daddy! She clapped her hands and danced for joy, dedicating her song to the stars. She ran and ran, and lo! Yes, there was her own sweet love. She called out to him but he would not hear her. She called to him with all his sacred names, but still he would not come to her. And then she saw; it wasn't her daddy at all. It was a nasty, terrible dragon hiding in a daddy-skin. She tried to get away but the dragon sent out its fiery breath to chase her. The princess screamed and screamed, while the wicked dragon tried to burn her all up.

She ran, but she was so hurt that she couldn't get very far away at all. She found a cave, and crawled inside where it was warm and dark, and there were no dragons. No dragons, just dreams.

*

Money in one man's hand, a syringe in another's. Lift, swap, return. End of transaction. Very calm, very clean.

"Thank you, sir. Pleasure doing business with you, as always."

He doesn't respond. Doesn't need to talk any more now. Not to this filthy, mercenary creature, not to the people in his head. He has what he needs to shut them up, now.

He sits down with his back against the wall and makes his preparations. It's a ritual of sorts, a twisted kind of sacrament. He does what he has to do with his eyes closed, and part of him is amused by that. He can look into the abyss, but not into his own soul. He's too frightened to have that look back at him.

He lets out a long breath and surrenders to his dreams.

*

The princess grew to love her cave. There were people there, cute little wraithlike things who came to her and worshipped at her feet. They gave her food, and in return she whispered stories in their ears. She told them what was in the stars and sometimes, if they felt that they had been bad, what was in her heart. She knew all their stories, and she told them over and over again. The wraiths sighed and wept and cried out, and she allowed them to touch her. If the wraiths had been _very_ bad, she allowed them to love her.

*

He hears the door open, and then close again softly.

"Hello, Drusilla," he says.

She sits beside him, but she doesn't speak. She never does; he's not even sure if she can. Her throat, like her face, was burned so badly that it's quite possible her vocal cords don't function any more. At first he'd found it strange that she hadn't healed; vampires didn't usually scar. He soon saw the truth, however. She doesn't heal for the same reason he doesn't; it's all she has left of Angel.

She leans in close to him, and pulls his head to her chest. He accepts the offered breast, and holds up his wrist in return. Their teeth bite down at the same time, drawing blood together.

The victim and the monster. Which is which? He doesn't really know. So much he doesn't know. So much.

*

The princess had a favourite wraith, and a fine, handsome one he was. But just like her, he was very sad because he didn't have a daddy to love. Inside his daddy-skin had been not a dragon but a cold, fishy-eyed machine. He'd sent it away, nasty thing, but inside his real daddy was another one just like it! The poor wraith thought he must be made all of cogs and wires too, so the princess hugged him and kissed him, and showed that he was just being silly; he was made of slugs and snails and puppy dog tails, just like he should be.

*

Fangs and mind. Entering him, violating him. Filling him. Filling up the holes.

*

The princess sat the sad little wraith in her lap, and told him a lovely story. She told him all about a little boy, a changeling, who'd been stolen away. First, by a bad faery, then second by a good faery. Third and last, by his own daddy! Daddies never love their children, she told the wraith, and he nodded. She thought he understood, now.

*

Door opening again. Hands on him, voices from a very long way away.

" - leave him alone in here? You fucking idiot, she - "

" - dead? Get her off him, I can't - "

" - fucking tranq gun, for Christ's sake, give it - "

" - know who he _is?_ Fuck, if he's dead we're in - "

He's lifted, carried, borne away. The voices fade.

*

The princess loved her wraith very much, and she wanted to keep him with her forever. She laid him down to sleep, and when he woke up they both lived happily ever after.

The End.


End file.
